


several sunlit days

by pulses



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M, brief descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 09:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulses/pseuds/pulses
Summary: Sichengwasborn to fly. He’s just a little accident prone.So when he loses balance trying to receive the Quaffle during the Gryffindor-Slytherin match and slips off his broom, all he can wonder before he hits the pitch is how this didn’t happen sooner.





	several sunlit days

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, thanks so much to the mods for being flexible and helpful along the entire journey! prompter, i loved your prompt so much that i had to claim it and i hope i was able to do it some justice. i would’ve loved to put more markhyuck but in the end i wasn’t sure how to fit in more than some passing mentions! i also hope you don’t mind the inclusion of svt members! #97linelyfe
> 
>  
> 
>  notes on worldbuilding:  
> \- this takes place post harry potter canon  
> \- ages/years are a bit wonky, but just know that 97line are sixth years, and 95 and 96line are somehow all seventh years  
> \- i tried to make the timeline as realistic as possible in regards to quidditch season and the hogwarts academic calendar. if it isn’t clear the fic takes place over the course of about 1.5 months, starting in early november.
> 
> title is a quote from harry and ginny’s first kiss scene in the half blood prince, there are a lot of relatively non graphic mentions of injuries/broken bones, and the pacing could use some work. alright, buckle in let’s go!
> 
> \- j

Ask anyone who knows him, and they’ll tell you Sicheng Dong was born to fly.

The first broom Sicheng ever owned was a Cleansweep Twenty-Five, a gift from his parents for his tenth birthday. He proceeded to break it (and two bones) flying into a massive oak on that very afternoon. As his father inched through London traffic towards the ER, Sicheng cried in the backseat and half-deliriously begged his mother to buy him a new broom as soon as possible. Because even at that age, even through the excruciating pain and numbness, Sicheng knew: the several seconds he had spent in the air before nosediving into a tree had been the most exciting seconds of his life. 

The second broom Sicheng ever owned was also a Cleansweep Twenty-Five, and he was a little more discerning that time around. 

Sicheng _was_ born to fly. He’s just a little accident prone.

So when he loses balance trying to receive the Quaffle during the Gryffindor-Slytherin match and slips off his broom, all he can wonder before he hits the pitch is how this didn’t happen sooner.

 

 

The first thing Sicheng notices when he regains consciousness is the pain. It comes in flashes and bursts, coursing through his entire body. He almost feels like he’s afloat, but being tossed by relentless waves against jagged rocks. If his eyes weren’t closed, he’d probably be seeing white.

The second thing that registers is that there are several people looming over him, speaking in harsh whispers. He grunts in protest and wrenches his eyes open to find the Gryffindor Quidditch Team’s concerned faces hovering above him. Sicheng has half a mind to pretend to go back to sleep, but Ten has already spotted him moving and is screaming “HE’S AWAKE” so loudly that the giant squid can probably hear him from its home at the bottom of the Great Lake. 

Seeker reflexes.

Sicheng smiles weakly as everyone starts clamouring excitedly around him. “Sicheng, buddy,” Johnny is asking, “how are you feeling? You were out for so long we were getting worried.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two days…” Mark starts, then trails off.

“Oh, that’s not so bad.” Sicheng’s record is three days, from that time in 4th year his Stunning Spell rebounded on him in DADA. The team has yet to let him live that one down.

“…have passed since it’s been a week. So that makes nine days that you’ve been unconscious,” a new voice supplies.

Sicheng can’t decide if he’s more startled by the fact that he’s been in a miniature coma or by the unfamiliar disembodied voice coming from somewhere beside him. His eyes swivel wildly trying to detect the source without moving his neck.

“Yeah, sorry mate, we were pretty sure you weren’t going to wake up,” Mark says, and earns an eyeroll and elbow jab from Yerim. “Just kidding!”

“Jaehyun has been charged with keeping you under while you heal.” Yerim pats Sicheng’s foot soothingly. “You’ve been in good hands.”

Sure enough, a tall figure clad in Slytherin robes steps into Sicheng’s peripheral vision, and Sicheng supposes he’ll be able to match the disembodied voice to a face now. A very, _very_ handsome face.

“Jaehyun Jung,” he says by way of introduction and extends his arm for a handshake. Sicheng stares at the hand helplessly, then flickers his eyes down at his arm braces before Jaehyun sheepishly lets it fall limply back to his side. “I’m a friend of Yerim’s and I’ve been helping out around the hospital ward as Madame Pomfrey’s student assistant this year.”

Sicheng knows who Jaehyun Jung is. _Everybody_ knows who Jaehyun Jung is. Sicheng has just never seen him up close or not encircled by a small army of admirers.

“Nice to meet you,” Sicheng says dumbly. He hears Johnny try to disguise a laugh as a cough, and he thinks Johnny’s lucky Sicheng has lost control of his limbs and doesn’t have the opportunity to send a fist flying.

At the same time Jaehyun’s mouth twists, amused. “Nice to meet you, too. Though I do wish it were under better circumstances. We’ve been suspending your consciousness while delivering concentrated Skele-gro for a faster and less painful healing process, so unfortunately we haven’t had the chance to chat yet.”

“How much longer until he’s fully healed?” Ten asks. “Or at least healed enough for Quidditch?”

“Ah… Madame Pomfrey and I talked, and…” He winces. “We think it’s best if Sicheng takes a break from Quidditch until the end of the year.”

It’s like the world stops. Beside him, Ten freezes with his eyes blown wide. Mark drops the box of chocolates he’d picked up from Sicheng’s gift pile and started eating. Yerim gasps and covers her mouth, aghast. 

Sicheng wants to cry. 

He runs the words over and over again in his mind, wonders if he thinks hard enough he might be able to spin their meaning around, but his brain doesn’t budge. _The end of the year_ is burned into his memory loud and clear, cruel and harsh, just like everything about this. Sicheng—Sicheng wants to scream and kick and throw things, but it hurts to even move his finger a millimetre. His throat burns like he’s swallowed a cactus that was also on fire, and he’s never felt more useless in his life. 

Thankfully, while Sicheng is struggling to make sense of his imminent breakdown right in front of his teammates, Jaehyun starts ushering them out the exit, paying no mind to their insistent protests.

“Sicheng needs us right now,” Johnny says, standing halfway through the doorframe.

Jaehyun shakes his head. “He needs rest more right now. Come back tomorrow.”

It takes more time than it should to get them out, but Jaehyun does succeed eventually. When he finally manages to herd all the stubborn Gryffindors out, he walks back to Sicheng’s side. 

“You’re more than just Quidditch,” Jaehyun says softly, and brings up a sleeve to wipe the tears from Sicheng’s cheeks that Sicheng hadn’t even noticed himself. “And you’ll be back before you know it.”

Jaehyun waits for Sicheng to start falling asleep before he closes the curtains and locks the hospital ward doors behind him.

Sicheng only wishes he could’ve thanked Jaehyun before he left.

 

 

Sicheng ends up staying in the hospital ward for several more days, as his bones fully set. He would be completely miserable if not for the frequent visits from his teammates and Jaehyun. Between taking Sicheng’s vitals and awkwardly helping him to his bedpan, Jaehyun finds time to make small talk with Sicheng, which leads into them being something like tentative friends. Sicheng learns that Jaehyun spent four years in America, right before the start of his first year. His father works for the Department of International Magic Cooperation, and uprooted the Jung family to work in close contact with Congress on a project that no one without ridiculous amounts of clearance knows anything about. Before that, he followed his father from country to country on Cooperation business, never staying more than a year. 

Sicheng also learns that Jaehyun helps out as Pomfrey’s assistant between and after classes.

“My mum’s the Head Mediwitch at St. Mungo’s, so he wanted me to get experience in the field before graduating,” Jaehyun explains, leaning against the windowsill by Sicheng’s cot. Sicheng frowns.

“So you want to be a Mediwizard, then?”

Jaehyun shrugs. “Beats following my father into politics. Not all of us get to be Quidditch hotshots with guarantees to go pro,” he says. Coming from anyone else, it would’ve sounded bitter and uncalled for, but Jaehyun just sounds like he wants to redirect the conversation away from himself.

“My older sister plays bass guitar for an indie wrock band in New Zealand called Phoenix Tears,” Sicheng counters. He air guitars for second before he realises how absurd he looks. “Professional Quidditch is almost tame in comparison.”

It turns out that Jaehyun has actually listened to Sicheng’s sister’s music before, and they end up discussing their favourite bands for so long that the sun starts to set behind Jaehyun, illuminating from behind in oranges and pinks. Suddenly it clicks for Sicheng why everyone calls Jaehyun Slytherin’s golden boy. Not just for the way he glows yellow gold like this, but for his warmth, his charm. The way he holds himself despite the grey tinge under his eyes. Jaehyun has a way of drawing people into his orbit and Sicheng can feel himself gravitating, even though they’ve only been talking for a couple days.

 

 

Mark visits Sicheng during his lunch one of those days, sneaking a couple pumpkin tarts under his robes. He openly stares as Sicheng basically inhales them one by one. 

“Does Jaehyun not feed you up here?”

Sicheng pounds his chest, trying to move along the pieces of tart travelling a bit too slowly for comfort down his esophagus. 

“No,” he replies hoarsely, after he’s safely avoided premature death by choking. “I just haven’t had anything that isn’t vitamin-infused gruel in a while.”

Mark makes a knowing sound and starts nodding vigorously. “Oh, of course. Nothing but the best for Jaehyun Jung’s star patient.”

“I have no idea what that means, but you’d better get going because I can hear Slytherin Quidditch practice starting and Donghyuck is expecting you to be there watching, isn’t he?”

Mark reddens, bravado crumbling into the light breeze coming from Sicheng’s half-open window. Sicheng waves gleefully as Mark mumbles a quick goodbye and absconds. 

_Too easy._

 

 

Sicheng is discharged on a Tuesday afternoon.

At that point, he can already move around on his own with ease and both Jaehyun and Pomfrey have thoroughly checked every aspect of his health. Sicheng is proud to say that he’s the healthiest he’s ever been in his life as he sits on the edge of his cot, swinging his legs and waiting for Jaehyun to finish his release paperwork.

“You ready to get back out in the world?” Jaehyun asks.

Sicheng resists the urge to pout up at Jaehyun. “Yeah, but it’s hard to imagine a world without Quidditch.”

“You may find there are a lot of important things in this world other than Quidditch,” Jaehyun says, scribbling on Sicheng’s chart.

“Like what?” Sicheng asks. It comes out drier and flatter than Sicheng intends, but it makes Jaehyun’s eyes crinkle up and Sicheng finds that he’s been counting the times he can make Jaehyun smile for a while now.

Jaehyun keeps his head ducked, still jotting down notes. “N.E.W.T.S., maybe. Trips to Hogsmeade. Writing home to your family.” Now he meets Sicheng’s gaze. “Great love stories.” He drops his eyes again. “You’d be surprised. Go find yourself, Sicheng Dong.”

Here’s the thing. 

Sicheng knows he’s kind of dense. Last year, Yuta Nakamoto spent most of his waking hours tailing Sicheng around and flirting aggressively with him, and he’d only realised when Yerim asked him to “please stop letting that love-starved leech follow you to Quidditch practice he’s not even a Gryffindor for Merlin’s sake!” So, yes, it feels like Jaehyun is flirting with him right now, but what the hell does Sicheng know? For now, Sicheng just twiddles his thumbs under his robe sleeves and hopes Jaehyun doesn’t notice his frayed nerves. Sicheng has come to realise, however, that there is very little that Jaehyun doesn’t pick up on. A forced cough is all Sicheng needs to know that his disquiet isn’t as subtle as he’d like it to be.

Still, Jaehyun offers Sicheng his hand when he’s a little wobbly getting up.

“You’re a free man, is what I’m saying,” Jaehyun picks up where he left off. “Make the most of it.”

Sicheng takes his hand. “Thank you,” he says, and means it.

 

 

Unfortunately for Sicheng, the first class he is allowed to attend after being released from the hospital ward is Potions with the Hufflepuffs. It turns out to be even more unfortunate for the students within blast radius when he adds the root of asphodel before the Infusion of Wormwood to his Draught of Living Death, and most unfortunate for his long suffering Potions partner Mingyu Kim, whose eyelashes get singed off. Sicheng has never been more sorry in his life, but he really shouldn’t be trusted to perform precise measurements when his already poor fine motor skills have been impaired.

Their professor seems to come to that conclusion as well, because he reassigns Minghao Xu, the best Potions student in their year, as his partner. Mingyu and Minghao exchange frantic glances as they switch seats. Needless to say, Sicheng is embarrassed as all hell, but he’s glad Mingyu will be able to regrow his lashes far, far away from Sicheng and his personal disaster zone. 

Minghao sidles up next to Sicheng and eyes the scorch marks on the bench cautiously.

“Hello there!” Sicheng musters up his best _I-am-not-a-danger-to-myself-and-others_ smile. His mum says it’s charming, but Ten says it makes him look unstable. Judging by Minghao’s more relaxed stance, Sicheng thinks his mother was right.

“Hi.” Minghao gives a small smile back and immediately pulls the cutting board towards himself and starts chopping their Sopophorous beans.

They spend the rest of the class in relative silence, only breaking it when Minghao briefly explains what he’s doing to Sicheng. Sicheng is a little disappointed. He’s always wanted to talk to Minghao more, since he lives in a small pocket of Chinese expat wizards in London not too far from Sicheng’s own and they’ve somehow never really crossed paths. Sure, Sicheng has Renjun and Chenle to talk to about home, but they’re literally, like, twelve years old and Sicheng gets the feeling he needs more friends his own age. If only talking to strangers didn’t make him want to break out in hives sometimes. The way he hit it off with Jaehyun was a wonderful anomaly.

In the end, their potion gets top marks thanks to Minghao and Sicheng barely gets a chance to thank him before he rushes off with Mingyu and the rest of the Hufflepuffs to History of Magic. Sicheng stands at the side in the hall chewing his lip for a minute before he wanders off to the North Tower for Divination.

 

 

After Divination, Sicheng all but runs (heeding the “No running!” warning Jaehyun had forcefully given Sicheng when he was being discharged) out to the school grounds. He’s banned from playing Quidditch, but somehow he still ends up gravitating to the pitch like a moth to flame. Standing at the edge of the playing field, he breathes in and feels the tension in his joints dissipate. It rained last night, and if Sicheng could live in the fragrant, soft mud of the pitch after a storm like a Quidditch-loving lungfish, he would. 

He jumps when a voice suddenly calls out to him across the green.

“Hey! What’d we say about Quidditch, Sicheng Dong!”

Sicheng turns. As his eyes focus, he sees Jaehyun making his way over from a group of Slytherins sitting under a willow tree with his hands in his robe pockets. His sun-lightened brown hair glimmers like a halo, and Sicheng finds himself clamming up. He’s stuck uselessly fiddling with his bookbag strap as Jaehyun approaches.

“I promise I wasn’t going to play… I just. I like to be near the field. I—miss it,” Sicheng stutters out. 

Jaehyun seems to note the honesty in Sicheng’s voice and softens. He tilts his head to look up at the stands and rings, blinking at the pale sky. It gives Sicheng a chance to absentmindedly study his magnificent jawline.

“Well, I don’t really get it, but maybe this will be an opportunity for you to heal. Y’know," he gestures vaguely, and it comes off kind of cute and awkward on someone like Jaehyun Jung. “ _Spiritually._ ”

To be honest, Sicheng has the urge to blurt “ _that’s bullshit_ ,” but he doesn’t think he and Jaehyun are quite there in their budding friendship yet, so—he holds his tongue. In one smooth motion, Jaehyun plops himself down on the grass next to Sicheng and leans back on his hands, beckoning for Sicheng to sit down as well.

“Shouldn’t you go back to your friends over there?”

Jaehyun hums. “No, I told them I wanted to talk to my favourite patient.”

Sicheng’s ears burn, unexpectedly. “Really?”

“Yeah, you very narrowly edged out the third year with Dragon Pox who came in after you left,” Jaehyun laughs, and pulls on Sicheng’s robes. Sicheng sighs, sitting down to launch into a colourful retelling of what happened in Potions earlier that day.

 

 

They make a habit of it.

Sicheng shares his free period with Jaehyun, sitting on the sometimes damp grass around the Quidditch field. Jaehyun always makes sure to ask about Sicheng’s recovery and physical condition, sometimes writing down sparse notes that he says he’ll relay back to Madame Pomfrey. Sicheng sneaks peeks of those notes when Jaehyun is distracted, and he isn’t quite sure how much use “looks happy today, leaf got caught in his hair” will be to Pomfrey. 

So, you know, Sicheng really, _really_ hopes that he’s more than just a responsibility in Jaehyun’s mind at this point.

Occasionally, the group of lower year students who follow Jaehyun around and call themselves his fanclub will get close and alternate between shooting Sicheng wary glances and Jaehyun beatific smiles. Once or twice, a Slytherin seventh year called Dongyoung drops in on them and ribs Jaehyun about something inane to Jaehyun’s apparent great annoyance before hurrying off again.

Sicheng doesn't know a whole lot about Dongyoung, but Ten has told him that Jaehyun used to follow him around when they were younger like a lost baby Puffskein. 

“Now Jaehyun is the hottest 6th year in the school,” Ten says, then gestures towards Dongyoung sitting at the Slytherin table shoveling eggs into his mouth and doing homework at the same time. “And Dongyoung is still a nerd.”

Sicheng kind of gets it though. When Jaehyun talks about himself, Sicheng knows he doesn't view himself the same way others view him. People talk about how someone that kind and handsome and rich and talented is just bound for great things. But sometimes Jaehyun smiles and there's a self-deprecating twinge to it, and Sicheng isn't the best at reading people or reading anything really, but he knows the little boy who never had a place to call home until he came to Hogwarts is still in there. He must've seen something in Dongyoung, who Ten tells him was as sure of who he was and what he wanted when he was twelve years old as he is now.

In that way, Sicheng and Jaehyun are alike. For all people tell Sicheng he’s the best Chaser to pass through Gryffindor in a century, he still feels like a ten year old crying in his parents’ car, holding the two halves of his first Cleansweep. He knows they expect a lot from him. His teammates, his family, the scouts that have already started showing up to their matches. He winces imagining what the Puddlemere United scout at the Gryffindor-Slytherin match thought about him plummeting off his broom like a dead weight midway through. 

There are still a lot of things that hurt to think about, but Sicheng is getting better in a great number of ways.

 

 

Or so he thinks.

“Merlin’s beard…” Minghao says incredulously. It’s only half under his breath.

Beside him Sicheng holds their cauldron, which has been split cleanly in half, and hangs his head. “I don’t know what happened.”

Which is true. Sicheng _doesn’t_ know what happened. He had been getting through Potions fairly well, but only because Minghao had relegated him to solely cutting the least volatile ingredients. It’s a decision that’s given Sicheng, Minghao, their professor, and pretty much everyone sitting in range of them peace of mind. Only today Minghao had made the disastrous mistake of letting Sicheng graduate to tending the cauldron while he went to get more moth wings in the stockroom, and needless to say things had quickly gone south. 

“Nevermind,” Minghao rushes, already putting the fractured cauldron pieces away. Sicheng takes it as instruction to follow his lead, and they quickly clean up and restart their potion in time to turn something in at the end of class. Afterward Sicheng feels distinctly terrible about the mess; he doesn’t stop apologising until they’re almost out of the door, where Minghao reassures him again and again that it’s fine. 

(He doesn’t say it through gritted teeth like his last partners always had, so Sicheng thinks he _might_ actually mean it, but it’s not a risk he wants to take.) 

Before Sicheng can say sorry for probably the 50th time, Professor Johnston calls him over to his desk, and Minghao takes the chance to subtly slip out the door. He gets waved toward a seat and watches his Potions professor exhale deeply, composing himself. Sicheng jitters his leg uncontrollably under the desk.

“Sicheng,” Johnston starts. “I am… _concerned_ about your performance in Potions. I know you’ve always struggled with the subject, but it’s your sixth year and your N.E.W.T.S are coming up. I don’t want to see you fail, even if professional Quidditch doesn’t require any grades in particular. It’s important to me that students perform well and have a strong foundation in potionsmaking that will last them their whole lives. Do you understand?”

Sicheng nods numbly. Professor Johnston pushes a teetering stack of books towards Sicheng.

“I’ve collected some resources that could be helpful for filling in the conceptual holes you have. As for practical skills, some will come naturally with understanding the concepts, while others will require you to practice outside of class. Are you willing to take this on?”

Eyeing the titles like _The Complete Guide to Sleeping Draughts_ and _Remedial Potions: Fifth Edition_ , Sicheng mourns the loss of his classic “but it’s Quidditch season!” excuse.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good to hear.” It’s the first time Sicheng has ever seen his Potions professor smile at him. He finds it hugely uncomfortable. “I trust you’ll be able to pass easily with the extra revision.”

Sicheng is less sure, but thanks him nevertheless. He starts to lug the books out the door and into the now abandoned hallway.

Then promptly trips on his own robes.

Great.

With a resigned sigh, he sits up and goes to gather the books up again. Only before Sicheng knows it, or can do anything about it, very obviously not standard-issue red Nike sneakers appear before his line of sight and a hand reaches down to pick up _You Can Understand Love Potions! (Vol. III)_. Sicheng peers up to see a visibly amused Minghao Xu reading the back cover. Minghao turns his attention to Sicheng and smiles.

“I can help you if you want.”

Sicheng can feel his eyes boggling comically, but he doesn’t even care. “You will?”

“Of course,” Minghao says in Chinese, Dongbei lilt evident, and nothing has ever sounded so beautiful to Sicheng’s ears.

 

 

Here’s something they don’t really teach you at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:

There is an entire world of magic beyond those castle walls. 

Even though Sicheng was born in Westminster, he grew up learning Chinese magic as well. When he was eight, his mother sat with him and his sister at the dining room table and taught them how to read the I-Ching while Celestina Warbeck’s greatest hits played through their kitchen radio. She also taught them to read tea leaves the way she was taught by her mother, and it’s the reason a thirteen year old Sicheng left his first Divination class at Hogwarts disoriented and disillusioned. The kind of Seeing that he was expected to do in school was completely different from the kind he did at home, and it took a while for him to reconcile the two systems, but Divination has since become one of the subjects he really, truly understands. 

In the library, under a stained glass window of Bridget Wenlock, Minghao tells Sicheng he had something of the same experience with Potions.

“I come from a long line of medicine brewers,” Minghao explains as he marks off passages in _Advanced Potion-Making_ for Sicheng to review. “The way I see it, Chinese medicine is more potion making than anything else.”

Sicheng thinks back on the herbal formulas his parents made him drink when he was younger. “Tastes worse than Polyjuice Potion, too,” Sicheng adds.

“You get it,” Minghao snorts. His earrings jangle as his head bobs. “It’s just about finding a way to understand things by your own terms.”

_By his own terms._ Those seem to be the defining words of Sicheng’s year so far.

If only it were that easy, he thinks. 

 

 

Later that day, Sicheng finds Jaehyun on the pitch with his own broom and Quidditch set in tow. Sicheng’s heart jackhammers in his chest at the sight. Truthfully, Jaehyun and Quidditch are his two favourite things at the moment, but he hasn’t had the chance to think about both at once. It’s a bit overwhelming.

“I was thinking you could teach me a bit about Quidditch? No actual flying, though.” Jaehyun has the good grace to look sheepish.

Sicheng sticks his tongue out at Jaehyun petulantly. “Teach you about Quidditch? You’re a sixteen-year-old British wizard and you don’t know what Quidditch is?”

Jaehyun shifts the broom from hand to hand, feeling its weight. "I know what it is, I was just never any good at it. When I went to Muggle school in America I did get quite into a ball sport called football, although they called it soccer. You know what that is, right?"

"Of course I know what football is! I'm a half-blood! I went to Muggle grade school before my first year," Sicheng throws his hands up, mock exasperated. "You purebloods think you know more than everyone."

Sicheng is expecting the bemused and polite smile his humour usually receives, maybe even a pity laugh because he's feeling lucky today. He doesn't expect Jaehyun to throw his head back and laugh with his whole body, the sound of it reverberating through the empty Quidditch pitch. It feels like the time he stood too close to his sister's amp when she was practicing her electric bass, but more pleasant and tingly and less ribcage shattering. Sicheng has never seen Jaehyun laugh that way. Truthfully, before landing himself in the hospital ward, Sicheng had barely seen Jaehyun outside of catching glimpses of him surrounded by his friends in the Great Hall or talking to professors after class.

Everything about this is uncharted and Sicheng finds himself enjoying it rather than feeling like he's suffocating under his own nerves like he would’ve expected.

"You're interesting," Jaehyun says appraisingly, but Sicheng finds that he doesn't feel like he's being talked down to. He doesn't really know what to do with that.

"Uh, no. You're more interesting. Probably?"

Jaehyun leans his weight on his broom; Sicheng bites back the urge to tell him that it's bad for the broom because Jaehyun is looking at him with his guard all the way down, and he suddenly feels like he's walking on eggshells.

"How?"

"You've lived in so many different countries! Your father's a Ministry higher up! You get to see what's going on in the hospital ward!"

Jaehyun shakes his head. "The only interesting thing that has ever happened to me abroad was the kids of the American wizarding government representatives trying to teach me Quodpot at a banquet and the ball exploding into my face and breaking my nose. My mum Episkeyed the shit out of me for being an embarrassment in front of everyone." Jaehyun tells the story with such a detached wryness that Sicheng can't help but giggle. Jaehyun's face lights up at his reaction, and he continues.

"And the most interesting thing that's ever happened at the hospital ward is when the best Chaser Hogwarts has seen in ages turned up there after pancaking into the ground from an altitude of 500 feet." Jaehyun leans in conspiratorially, cupping his hand to whisper into Sicheng's ear. "And he told me it was because he 'forgot to hold onto the broom'. Can you believe it?"

This time, Jaehyun joins him in doubling over in a fit of laughter.

"I wasn't lying about that, though," Sicheng says when he regains his senses. His abdomen feels all scrunched up from laughing so hard.

"I know. And I wasn't lying either when I said you were the best thing to ever happen to me at the hospital ward. Maybe even the best thing to ever happen to me all year."

"I thought you said interesting?"

Jaehyun smiles, eyes curving in earnest. "Did I? Same thing."

 

 

For the entire remainder of the week, Sicheng walks around the castle like he’s in a dream. It feels like the world is pastel high definition. He doesn’t even bat an eye when a first year throws up across the table from him at dinner. He literally cannot be brought down.

That is, until a bouquet of white lilies and chrysanthemums shows up in his Potions desk drawer. Sicheng’s blood runs cold. These are flowers of death, a bouquet you would bring to a funeral. It’s a clear threat and Sicheng knows exactly who issued it. 

“Don’t mess with those weirdos, Sicheng,” Minghao says in sharp, hushed tones across the cauldron he’s bringing to a low simmer. “Seokmin’s told me some really dark-sided stuff about the inner workings of Jaehyun’s fanclub.”

“Like what?”

Minghao’s eyes widen. “You don’t even want to know.”

Later, Seokmin himself flags Sicheng down as he’s walking through the Gryffindor Common Room. He places his hands on Sicheng’s shoulders and gently shakes him. Sicheng is honestly a little weirded out since he barely knows Seokmin, but Seokmin’s pleading eyes stop him from flinging his hands off and running the opposite direction as he might normally do. Instead, he stands rooted to the ground and painfully aware of the stares they’re attracting.

“Be careful out there. Jaehyun’s fans… you don’t know what they’re capable of,” Seokmin says conspiratorially.

“Aren’t you one of them?” Sicheng eyes Seokmin cautiously, unsure if this is a thinly-veiled threat to back off. He’s seen Seokmin poring over photos of Jaehyun with a group of fourth year Gryffindor girls at lunch before. These girls now give Sicheng very unsubtle glares in the hallways.

Seokmin shakes himself like a dog drying himself. “Not anymore. Not after all the things they said about you.” He smiles wistfully at Sicheng, which is unnerving, but it’s so earnest that Sicheng can only smile back bemusedly. “Thanks for taking care of him, Sicheng.”

Sicheng has no idea what that means but he just nods slowly and forces out a, “Uh. Yeah. Okay.” Seokmin sits back down on the Ottoman he had been sharing with Seungkwan, who gives him a pat on the back and Sicheng a thumbs up.

Sicheng stares at his bed’s canopy for hours before he falls asleep that night, going over the conversation. He’s missing something. A sign, a shift, a clue, something. His last thought before he drifts off is that Jaehyun has been the one taking care of him, not the other way around.

 

 

Perhaps Sicheng should have better heeded Minghao and Seokmin’s somber warnings, because it takes an impressively miniscule amount of time for it to all come crashing down. 

The next morning, Jaehyun is waiting by the Gryffindor table when Sicheng comes down for breakfast. He’s looking a little more worse for wear than usual, hair not as impeccably styled and mouth quirking nervously, apprehension and regret apparent in the creases of his face.

“I heard about what happened in Potions,” Jaehyun says, hovering awkwardly as Sicheng sits down to eat. “I’m so sorry.”

Sicheng grimaces down at the plate of sausages in front of him. “It’s not your fault.”

“No. No, I shouldn’t have let that happen. It’s completely unacceptable,” Jaehyun barrels on with increasing speed, hands moving frantically. “To think they’d target a patient—”

A _patient._

Suddenly, the world goes still and silent. Sicheng’s appetite crumbles into ash, and he pushes away his plate with more force than he intends, knocking over Johnny’s orange juice. Most of Gryffindor table goes silent.

This is what Sicheng had been scared of. More than any threats on his life from Jaehyun’s fans, more than Gryffindor losing the Quidditch Cup. Sicheng can’t bear the thought of Jaehyun only sticking around because he pities Sicheng, the Quidditch star who isn’t allowed to fly for a year.

“Is that all I am? A patient? I’m still just a patient?” Sicheng is aware his voice is quavering dangerously, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it now. Sicheng is far past the point of being able to curb his emotions, currently.

He doesn’t want to see the look on Jaehyun’s face: whether he’ll appear stricken or remorseful or annoyed or disgusted, or. 

He doesn’t—he can’t.

So he runs.

Jaehyun can barely say anything before Sicheng stands up and tears down the Great Hall, ignoring the stares of the entire student body. He runs, and runs, and he ends up at Gryffindor Tower without even intending to. The Fat Lady tuts disapprovingly but says nothing else, swinging open to let Sicheng in when he mumbles the password. Sicheng makes a beeline straight for his room, kicking off his shoes to fall into—something hard? 

With shaky hands, Sicheng extracts a box of Chocolate-Pumpkin Pasties, wrapped with a crimson red bow. It’s addressed to Sicheng, from Jaehyun.

_To my favourite Chaser ♥_ , the note reads, and Sicheng has never wanted to rip into something with his teeth more in his _life._

Sicheng is three pasties in before he realises that there’s no way Jaehyun could’ve gotten into Gryffindor Tower to deliver the box, but by that point he’s already sinking into darkness.

 

 

The first thing Sicheng notices when his fever breaks is Jaehyun’s presence, and immediately after that, the black-blue dark circles stark against his pale skin. Jaehyun looks like he’s been dragged through hell and back, and Sicheng wants to apologise for everything he’s put him through before remembering that this is Jaehyun’s job. Still, the genuine relief on Jaehyun’s face when he sees Sicheng wake up is undeniable.

Jaehyun smiles crookedly at Sicheng, too tired to coach his features into that sort of practiced coolness that Sicheng is used to.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Jaehyun says.

Sicheng tries to sit up straight, only to be immediately ushered back into the—the _three_ pillows stacked behind him. Something that sounds suspiciously like Mark’s nagging voice and “Jaehyun Jung’s star patient” rings through his head, and he’s so out of it that he even lets himself momentarily bask in the moment.

“What happened?” Sicheng demands. The effect is immediate: Jaehyun’s smile drops into a grimace. He looks regretful again, and Sicheng hates that he’s been responsible for the expression so many times. 

“My fanclub,” he says, like a curse, “is what happened. A few fourth year Gryffindor girls slipped you some poisoned pasties. If Mark hadn’t found you, the damage would have been much worse.” 

“How long have I been out?”

“Just one day,” Jaehyun reassures. “Really—if Mark hadn’t—” he inhales, shaky. “God, Sicheng. I’m so sorry. This is all on me.” 

“No, no.” Sicheng says. “I was the one who ate them. I didn’t even—didn’t even think—” his head hurts. He’s still mad, but he hates to see Jaehyun like this, and none of him knows where to stand. Not that he can actually stand at all. Hah.

Jaehyun sits by the edge of his bed, gingerly pushing his weight beside Sicheng’s body. The scene feels familiar. 

“I want to tell you something, and I want you to hear me out,” Jaehyun says. “Okay?”

Sicheng bites at his lip. It’s earnest, and he’s tired. So he says, “Okay,” and sits back.

“You remember, when Mark and Donghyuck started dating, and they got a lot of shit for it?”

Of course Sicheng remembers. It’d been last year, when Mark and Donghyuck were 4th years and testing the waters of their budding relationship. It’d been a sweet, innocent thing, but two young boys from Gryffindor and Slytherin dating can be disturbingly easy prey at Hogwarts. He isn’t sure what it has to do with any of this, but he hums along anyway.

Jaehyun nods at his acknowledgement. “Donghyuck is a really strong-willed boy, so he always tries to pretend everything is fine even if it’s not, and he’d always shrug me off whenever I asked. But—there was this one time, Mark came in and he’d been crying, and Donghyuck just started going off about you. How he guessed you were _okay_ , for a Gryffindor.” He laughs. “Starting rambling about how you yelled at this really scary 7th year for them and cost Gryffindor 10 points but it was the _coolest_ thing he’d ever seen, and I guess. That was the first time I actually learned anything about you.” 

“When I called you my patient, I didn’t think it would upset you, not because—I don’t care, or don’t think about what you mean to me, but because I was worried you’d think I was overstepping my boundaries otherwise. Because, Sicheng, I’ve admired you since the first Gryffindor-Slytherin match I watched you played in, and I’ve probably liked you since that day Donghyuck told me about you. Since that day you talked to me in the hospital, and since that day we spent at the pitch. And the days after that, and after, and after. To be honest—I totally hadn’t told my friends I was going to join you. I just ran off because I wanted to be with you so badly.” 

It’s like. Staring into the sun too long. It’s like a thousand stars bursting behind his eyes. 

Sicheng sits, and sits, and sits. Sicheng lets it sink.

Because he’s slow—because he needs this, if anything at all, spelled out for him, Sicheng puts a hand on Jaehyun’s arm and says, “Are you saying you _like_ me, Jaehyun Jung?”

“If you’ll let me, then... yeah,” Jaehyun says. “I’ve liked you for a long time, Sicheng Dong.”

“You—” Sicheng starts. “I—but—” _but you’re Jaehyun Jung and I’m just Sicheng, who has never been more than Quidditch._ The words are there, on his tongue, but. Hadn’t Jaehyun shown him that he was more than just Quidditch?

Wasn’t this right?

“I like you, too.” Sicheng affirms. It’s worth it even if only for the way Jaehyun immediately lights up, and Sicheng thinks he loves him, this boy behind Jaehyun’s practiced polish. 

“We can take things as they go for now. Just. Day by day,” Jaehyun assures. He slots his fingers through Sicheng’s. “You and me.”

Sicheng’s hands still have these nasty little warts from the poison, and he thinks it’s pretty disgusting, honestly, but Jaehyun just squeezes anyway. His eyes are reverent as he says it, like it’s not the corniest thing in the world, like Sicheng’s heart isn’t beating a thousand miles a minute, and—

If that’s not love, Sicheng doesn’t know what is.

 

 

Winter always sneaks up on Sicheng when he’s at Hogwarts. Without either of them planning it, the weeks they spend together have somehow already faded into nothing. It feels like the Hallowe’en Feast has only just happened when everyone starts packing for Christmas holidays. 

Jaehyun walks down to the train station with Sicheng the day the Hogwarts Express leaves, even though he’s staying at school for the holidays. His parents are away in Malawi for business, and he tells Sicheng he feels more useful here than alone in a massive empty house in Wiltshire.

“Have you got everything?” Jaehyun asks, voice muffled by his scarf. 

Sicheng just nods, his face too numb from the cold to really say anything. Jaehyun notices and cups Sicheng’s face between his mittened hands. Sicheng frowns at him, but Jaehyun just laughs. 

“Make it back in one piece, yeah?” 

Sicheng pinches Jaehyun’s ears in retaliation and delights in the way Jaehyun yelps. “I’ll try.”

It’s not much of a grand farewell, but it isn’t supposed to be. Sicheng will be back at school in two weeks, and they’ve both promised to write. He elects to drink Jaehyun in as he is now, in hopes that he’ll have enough mental fodder to last him all of break. Jaehyun looks good right now, a little flushed with the chill and maybe something else, and Sicheng is acutely endeared. It’s one of those rare sunny winter days, where the wind bites but the sun still manages to soak in through the clouds like a warm egg yolk and color everything golden. It makes Jaehyun appear particularly picturesque, if that’s even possible; his hair glows like his eyes glitter. Sicheng’s heart squeezes, impossibly, infinitely. Suddenly he feels the longing in him like a punch to the gut, realizes that he doesn’t want to forget any part of Jaehyun while they’re away. 

So he leans up and into Jaehyun’s touch, curls a hand around the soft material of his wool scarf, and presses his lips against his.

“Mmm,” Jaehyun hums, pleased. His lips taste like the cherry-flavored Muggle balm he’d grown fond of in America. Yet another one of Jaehyun’s endless charming attributes, Sicheng thinks, cheeks warming simply by proxy of his boyfriend’s proximity.

“I’ll see you,” Sicheng manages, pulling away just as Jaehyun tries to sneak some tongue in. It comes out dazed. Jaehyun pouts at him.

“Yeah,” he says, fond and wistful and everything in between. His face morphs into something gentler, loving. “Yeah.”

With a wave, Sicheng boards the train and finds an empty compartment. He’s barely settled down before there’s a knock at the door.

“Got room?” Minghao asks from across the doorframe. Sicheng laughs, beckoning him in. 

As the Express starts to move, Sicheng pries open the window and spots Jaehyun on the platform, waiting. Love wells up inside him, warm and strong like Firewhiskey. So maybe Sicheng is a little intoxicated when he shouts “I love you” down the length of the train, and maybe it gives him even more of a rush when Jaehyun shouts it back. Minghao just rolls his eyes jokingly at Sicheng when he finally closes the window and sits back down across from him, cheeks rosy and eyes glassy.

The sky outside rolls by in grey sheaths, but it is expansive in ways Sicheng has never noticed. All those years he’s spent in the air and being grounded for the first time has put everything into brilliant perspective. 

Barreling away at 100 miles per hour, Sicheng somehow feels more anchored than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm jimmy as in not exactly the ao3 user pulses you know and love (that's ava). this is actually a shared account and it's my first time posting here! i made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/sailtoshore) so let's be friends :')


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